


Pulled Up

by michaeljagger



Category: Thomas the Tank Engine & Friends, Thomas the Tank Engine - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-08
Updated: 2016-06-08
Packaged: 2018-07-13 20:50:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7136576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/michaeljagger/pseuds/michaeljagger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Henry gardens, Gordon is no help at all.</p>
<p>(title from the Talking Heads song - mostly a bad pun on 'pulling up' weeds, but I feel like the lyrics are also a bit relevant to this ship. Only a bit.)</p>
<p>(a birthday fic for oh-theindignity on tumblr)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pulled Up

This had to be one of the most resilient weeds Henry had ever encountered. Its roots clung to the warm earth like spindly fingers and he could feel it pull back towards the soil every time he tried to yank it out. He glanced over at Gordon, lying in the sun, but he looked so peaceful, and besides he was probably – yes, he could hear him snoring. Well, it didn’t matter. In all his years of gardening, Henry had never let a weed win yet.

            He dug his trowel in again. A good thing this wasn’t near any of his best plants, or he’d surely end up ripping out their roots too. Gordon shifted unhelpfully in his sleep. Henry gritted his teeth, and tightened his grip on the stubborn little plant, and then –

            “OUCH!”

            Well, it wasn’t as if this was the first time he had pulled a muscle while gardening. And anyway, it was worth the effort – the weed lay limply in the grass, clumps of soil still clinging to its roots. Henry rubbed his sore wrist and looked over to Gordon again, about to apologise for waking him, but he was still asleep. Of course he was. That was when Henry liked him best, though; not because he was being quiet, as James might think it very funny to suggest, but because it seemed to Henry that this was when Gordon was most content. Slow, and soft, his breaths coming in deep, hypnotising sighs. And so _much_ of him. If a fallen tree could still live, and breathe – and Henry immediately chastised himself for being so soppy, though he knew Gordon would have liked to hear it. With one hand on his chest, Henry leaned down and kissed his lips, just enough to feel his steady breathing falter. He kissed the faint scar between his nose and top lip, and this time he got a tiny sigh, so he carried on: first to his cheeks, and his forehead, then the curve of his ear, down his neck and finally to the hollow of his collarbone, and then he felt Gordon’s hand brush over his hair.

            Gordon blinked up at him, eyes half-open and crinkled against the sunlight. “Did I fall asleep?” His voice was only a slight murmur, nothing like his usual tone. Henry smiled, and kissed him again, feeling his warm breath as he sighed against his lips. He shivered as Gordon’s hand trailed down the back of his neck, circling a finger around the lighter patch of skin there. His other hand found Henry’s chin, easing his mouth open, and only when Henry gave a soft moan did he pull back from the kiss. Henry could feel heat blooming across his face.

            “Did I miss anything exciting?” Gordon asked, starting to sit up. Henry was still struggling to catch his breath, and his voice came out weak and shaky.

            “I pulled up a weed.”

            “Oh, well done.” Gordon started to kiss down the side of Henry’s neck, sliding one hand over his thigh.

            Henry nodded, biting his lip to stifle a gasp. “Pulled a muscle, though.”

            “Where?”

            “My wrist. No – the other one.”

            Gordon nodded and took Henry’s hand carefully, then started to kiss along the inside of his wrist, at first gently where it was still sore but with an increased intensity as he got further up his arm, to his shoulder and collarbone and neck and finally back to his lips, his breath hot in Henry’s mouth.

            “Looks like rain, doesn’t it?”

            Henry couldn’t answer, or even look up at the shifting grey clouds. He could still taste Gordon on the tip of his tongue, feel a bruise beginning where his teeth had pressed. Gordon kissed the sore patch. It was starting to show already, Henry knew, and Gordon was already worrying about it though he hid it well, but Henry didn’t mind.

            “Do you want to go inside?” Gordon said, giving his hand a faint squeeze. His hair was a little wavier than usual from the muggy heat. A torn shred of grass nestled just above his ear. Henry leaned forward and brushed it away with a soft smile.

            “No. Let’s stay out here a bit longer.”


End file.
